


Crazy In Love

by harleyyquinn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Past Infidelity, Post-Break Up, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleyyquinn/pseuds/harleyyquinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, what are you doing here?” Stiles finally asked.</p>
<p>“I needed to talk to you.”</p>
<p>“They don’t have phones in the Big Apple?”</p>
<p>“You never would have answered.”</p>
<p>“I might have,” Stiles cocked his head at him, “at the very least to enjoy the satisfaction of hanging up on you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Such a funny thing for me to try to explain,  
> How I'm feeling and my pride is the one to blame.  
> 'Cuz I know I don't understand,  
> Just how your love can do what no one else can.

The bar was dark and crowded, with music just loud enough to compete with all of the voices. There were more people than chairs, and a few people that were using the floor space like a dance floor in a club. Derek pushed through the bodies, ignoring one girl who drunkenly tried to feel him up, her girlfriends laughing loudly as he politely declined and pushed on to the bar. There were people lining up and leaning against the bar to place their orders, crowding around those lucky enough to get stools. He scanned the bodies until he found who he was looking for, Stiles, seated near the end closest to the patio door.  
  
The seats on either side of him were taken, one in particular with a blond man sitting in it seemingly talking to him, although Stiles looked like he’d been trying to ignore him for a while. Derek made his way over to them, squeezing in on Stiles’ other side and leaned over the bar to order a beer. He knew Stiles noticed him the instant their sides brushed together, but he didn’t look at him until he had his beer in hand. He leaned against the bar as he turned to properly face Stiles, taking a large swig of his beer, wishing it could give him some of that fabled liquid courage. Stiles met his eyes, clearly unimpressed to see him, and turned back to the blond man.  
  
Derek had known it was never going to be easy. Not after three years of silence while he lived in New York, but he refused to give up now that he was standing beside him. If he focused he could feel the body heat radiating off Stiles, he could smell him without following the impulse to bury his nose in Stiles’ hair and breathe in that scent he could recognize anywhere, and most importantly he could try to listen to his heart beat that was lost in the crowd and the beat of the bass, but he refused to do so since Stiles had always said that it was cheating.  
  
Derek noticed Stiles unleashing some of his charm as the blond man enjoyed the newfound interest, not so casually placing his hand on Stiles’ thigh. Stiles eyed the hand, but let it go as the man leaned forward to say something only meant for them. Derek watched as the man leaned back with a smile and got off his stool; a clear invitation, likely for a bathroom stall. Still ignoring Derek, Stiles threw back the rest of his drink and made to follow. Derek grabbed onto Stiles’ wrist, forcing Stiles to turn in his seat to finally face him.  
  
“I’m kind of busy here,” said Stiles, although noticeably not trying to take back his arm.  
  
“Not with him,” Derek managed, fully aware he had no right to say anything.  
  
“Why the fuck not?” Stiles calmly asked. The blond man was hovering behind Stiles’ shoulder, unsure of what was going on and now displaced with a girl already having taken his vacant seat.  
  
“Frankly, you can do better,” said Derek, almost hoping the man overheard them.  
  
“I sincerely hope that’s not an offer,” scoffed Stiles.  
  
“I just came to talk,” Derek clarified.  
  
“Well, like I said: I’m kinda busy.” Stiles stood, but Derek refused to let go of him. He knew that if Stiles left with the guy he wouldn’t get the chance to talk to him at all.  
  
“ _Stay_.” He had meant it as a command, but they both knew it was a plea.  
  
Stiles finally really looked at him, a calculating look in his eye, before turning back to the waiting man. “Another time,” he said with a cocky wink before sitting back down.  
  
Derek finally let go and took another generous drink from his bottle. The guy had looked pissed, fairly blaming Derek for interfering, but Derek was already forgetting he existed as he finally had Stiles’ full attention.  
  
“Buy me a drink,” ordered Stiles.  
  
Derek got one of the bartenders’ attention and ordered another beer for himself, and a Jack and coke for Stiles - his usual, at least as of three years ago. Stiles didn’t comment on the right order, but accepted the drink all the same.  
  
“So, what are you doing here?” Stiles finally asked.  
  
“I needed to talk to you.”  
  
“They don’t have phones in the Big Apple?”  
  
“You never would have answered.”  
  
“I might have,” Stiles cocked his head at him, “at the very least to enjoy the satisfaction of hanging up on you.”  
  
Derek watched his own hands as he picked at the corner of the beer bottle’s label. “Yeah, I was hoping to avoid that part.”  
  
“By stalking me at a bar?” Derek shrugged in response. “How long have you been in town?”  
  
“A few hours.”  
  
“A few hours,” Stiles repeated. “So how did you find me then?” Derek drank his beer instead of replying. “You _tracked_ me?” Stiles asked incredulously.  
  
“It’s not like it was hard.” It really wasn’t. Derek was sure he could lose Stiles in Times Square on New Year’s Eve and still be able to pick out his scent. It was ingrained into his instincts the same way everyone knows what it smells like before it rains.  
  
“Dude. Very uncool.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have had to do it if you’d just tell Scott where you’ve been hiding lately.”  
  
“You wouldn’t have had to do it if you’d just stayed on the East Coast,” Stiles pointed out. “And it wouldn’t really be ‘hiding’ if I told everyone where I was.”  
  
Derek ignored him. “Why aren’t you talking to them?”  
  
“I am. It’s only you I don’t talk to,” said Stiles, unnecessarily reminding them of not only the recent distance between them, but the silence.  
  
“Then why aren’t you talking to them about this?”  
  
“About what? You’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” said Stiles, a challenge in his tone, as if daring Derek to spell it out.  
  
“About your engagement ending,” said Derek plainly.  “You know they’re just trying to help.”  
  
“That’s why I’m not talking to them about it. And you more than anyone should understand why.”  
  
Derek felt the old accusation hit him in the gut. “Whatever happened, you know they won’t judge you. They’re better than that.”  
  
“Exactly. They’re _too_ nice. They just ‘want to be there’ for me.” Stiles finished his drink, sliding the empty glass between his two hands. “I don’t deserve any of it,” he said seriously.  
  
“Don’t be an idiot,” said Derek. “That’s what pack is for.”  
  
“How would you know?” shot back Stiles.  
  
There were too many things Derek wanted to say to that, _that’s not fair_ being at the top of the list. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he said instead.  
  
Stiles shook his head. “How’d you find out in the first place? Scott?”  
  
Derek nodded, hoping Scott hadn’t intended for that to be a secret. “He’s worried. They all are.”  
  
“So they what, called you in as reinforcements? That’s so painfully ironic.”  
  
Derek had thought the same thing when Scott told him Stiles needed his help, but he couldn’t find it in him to say no. “I don’t think they appreciate the irony,” Derek mused.  
  
“That’s because they still don’t really understand what happened. Why we don’t talk. Y’know, how you skipped town and broke my heart,” said Stiles matter-of-factly, as if it wasn’t blatantly still an open wound for the both of them.  
  
“Stiles-” Derek started.  
  
“But she knew. Robin always knew,” said Stiles, relishing in the chance to finally be honest with someone. “After everything we put her through, she was still the one that helped pick me back up after you left. And we were both stupid enough to ignore how unhealthy a relationship built off that really was.”  
  
Stiles sounded older to Derek. He didn’t really look any different, still with his unruly hair, his big brown eyes Derek would trick himself into seeing in strangers all throughout New York; he might have still looked the same, but god, did he sound beaten. As if he’d picked a fight with Life and lost, over and over again.  
  
“You know I had to leave,” said Derek, unsettled by the vulnerability he could see hiding behind Stiles’ bravado.  
  
“I really don’t know actually. What I _do_ know is that everything fucking exploded around me, and you ran to avoid the fallout.”  
  
“You have a selective fucking memory then,” said Derek, harsher than he had intended. Stiles was quickly and accurately beginning to push his buttons, as if he could ever forget where they were anymore than Derek could forget the constellations Stiles’ freckles could outline.  
  
“Do I? You know what the most ironic part of it really was? Was that you left under the weak pretense of not wanting to _hurt me_ anymore, and yet, three years later you’re still the one hurting me the most.”  
  
“Stiles-” Derek tried again.  
  
Stiles cut him off by turning in his stool, his legs sliding to the outside of Derek’s, keeping him there. Their new position brought them closer than they had been in years, and Derek was overly aware that he could smell the whiskey on Stiles’ breath, remembering what it used to taste like on his tongue. Stiles took Derek’s beer out of his hand, drinking the rest of it without permission before placing it on the bar.  
  
They stared each other down, the loud noises of the bar turning into white noise. “She left because of you,” said Stiles. “That’s why I can’t talk to them about it.”    
  
The admission sent Derek reeling, more so than having Stiles so close to him again after so long. “We haven’t even talked in years,” reasoned Derek, his voice quiet.  
  
“That apparently didn’t matter,” Stiles said with a shrug. “She said that I’m still not over you,” he counted the reasons on his fingers, “that I always tried to use her as your replacement. That it was a mistake ever trying again after what happened.”  
  
“Fuck,” Derek breathed out.  
  
They hadn’t meant for it to happen. Neither of them were even really sure how it had started to happen in the first place. Derek remembered them arguing as they tended to do, and then Stiles’ tongue was down his throat. But Stiles had already been dating Robin, a she-wolf, for over a year by then. So they had tried to stop. They had tried to write it off as a mistake. But they just couldn’t seem to.  
  
“Do you know what really fucking sucks?” Stiles met Derek’s eyes, watching his reaction. “I’m not even sure she was wrong.”  
  
Derek remembered training sessions that ended with them grinding against each other on the floor, coming in their pants like teenagers. Derek remembered mischievous hands under tables, even while surrounded by pack. Derek remembered stolen kisses in Lydia’s kitchen, stolen because they were never his to take in the first place. Derek remembered everything, everything he had been trying to forget since he had left town.  
  
“Don’t,” Derek warned. _Don’t go there, don’t make me remember, don’t do this to me._  
  
“Don’t?” Stiles boldly took hold of Derek’s waist, brushing his thumb back and forth over the soft material of his shirt. “Are you really trying to tell me that’s not why you traveled from one end of the country to the other?”  
  
“It’s not.”  
  
“ _Liar_.”  
  
“I came to help,” Derek insisted, although he wasn’t sure who he had to convince more.  
  
Stiles nodded as his fingers slid under the hem of Derek’s shirt, lightly brushing at the hard muscles he still had memorized. “So help me,” said Stiles.  
  
Derek had never learned how to say no to Stiles. He leaned forward, placing a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. He could feel Stiles tremble, but he couldn’t decide if it was from old hurt or want bubbling inside him, likely both. When he pulled back, Stiles gently pushed at his chest so he could stand. Stiles grabbed Derek’s wrist as he slipped past him, pulling him through the crowd and out the door into pouring rain.  
  
As they passed by the smokers that were barely protected under the building’s overhang just outside of the door, Derek caught sight of the blond man from before and the lethal glare he was sending their way. Derek ignored him as they crossed the parking lot, neither of them rushing despite the cold rain soaking through their clothes.  
  
As they neared Stiles’ jeep he wordlessly handed Derek the keys and walked himself around to the passenger side, self-aware that he shouldn’t be the one driving. Derek was just glad he didn’t have to fight him for the keys, and slid into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t the same jeep Stiles had in high school, that one he had gracefully retired a few years ago. He replaced it with a slightly newer jeep from at least the early 2000’s; it was progress as far as anyone who cared about him was concerned.  
  
Derek drove to Stiles’ place without prompting.  
  
-  
  
Walking into Stiles’ house after so long hit Derek hard in ways he hadn’t been prepared for. The house was fairly tidy, but barer than a couple of weeks ago Derek suspected. Robin’s scent still faintly lingered, and Derek had to remind himself that he didn’t have to feel guilty about being there; he wasn’t responsible for hurting her anymore.  
  
They had secretly fooled around for months, both knowing it was wrong, both knowing they couldn’t stop. They tried to stop. Stiles had even tried to tell Robin, but instead they kept ending up in the other’s bed, only remembering to feel remorseful as they tried to catch their breath while staring at the ceiling. They tried to draw boundaries, but they always just became new lines they could cross, setting new limits they could sink to hand-in-hand. One line that had never been crossed was them being together in Stiles’ home, as if that made any of the other times less of a betrayal.  
  
They had known they were being selfish, that it would hurt Robin, and nothing had confirmed it more than when she finally found them desperately making out against the red bricks of a house they were at for a summer party. Derek had expected anger, or violence, but nothing came. She only said four words before turning heel and leaving the party, and they weren’t the ones they had expected; “ _I should have known_ ,” was all she had uttered.  
  
Stiles later told Derek that Robin had explained she wasn’t as surprised to find out that Stiles was bisexual as she was to find out he was such an asshole. It wasn’t long after that before Derek had left for NYC. But there he was, standing in Stiles’ home three years later, whatever they had between them seemingly left unchanged.  
  
“Stiles-” Derek began, and not for the first time that night, was cut off as he watched Stiles pull off his dripping shirt that had been sticking to his wiry frame, dropping it on the floor next to his kicked off shoes.  
  
Stiles didn’t hesitate to undo his belt next, and peel off his wet jeans and socks, standing unashamedly in his front foyer wearing only his blue boxer-briefs. “I’m sorry,” Stiles crossed his arms, “you wanted to talk?”  
  
Derek nearly growled as he closed the distance between them, roughly pushing Stiles against the wall, almost knocking off a hanging picture along the way. Stiles let out a bark of laughter; Derek’s actions confirming that Stiles still held all of the power in the world over Derek, and that’s just the way they liked it. Derek pressed their bodies together, his wet clothes cold against Stiles’ bare flesh, but neither of them took notice as Derek’s arms caged in Stiles, both already panting before they had even started.  
  
“So _talk_ ,” Stiles said, pushing his hips into Derek’s as he said it.  
  
“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” asked Derek, watching Stiles’ mouth.  
  
“Because you never did like ’em easy.”  
  
_All too true_ , thought Derek. “I wish you would listen to me,” said Derek on a sigh as he felt Stiles’ cold hands squeeze between their bodies, effortlessly undoing Derek’s pants.  
  
“I’m listening.” Stiles’ hand slid into Derek’s boxers, producing an audible gasp from Derek as he wrapped his fingers around his rapidly growing hard-on. “You have my undivided attention, so say what you came over 2000 miles to say.”  
  
“I don’t know about undivided,” said Derek as Stiles began to stroke teasingly light.  
  
“Tell me why you’re here, Derek,” said Stiles, showing an incredible capacity for multi-tasking.  
  
“I needed to know you were okay,” admitted Derek.  
  
Stiles rewarded his honesty as his strokes became firmer, his thumb slowly swiping over the head of Derek’s cock, spreading the pre-come. “I’m not okay,” said Stiles. “But I will be. Why do you care?”  
  
“I never stopped caring.”  
  
Stiles abruptly stopped his hand, pulling it out of Derek’s boxers. Derek wondered if he’d been too honest, until Stiles started to pull at Derek’s pants and boxers, pulling them down to around his thighs, giving Stiles’ hand the freedom to stroke rougher. Derek bit back a moan at the change of pace.  
  
“Then why did you leave me?” asked Stiles, the hurt in his eyes still clear beyond the lust. But Derek couldn’t answer, he didn’t know what it would cost him to tell that truth. Stiles seemed to know he wasn’t getting a response as he slowed his movements again, finally stopping. “Hand me my jeans,” Stiles softly ordered.  
  
Derek swiped them off the floor, handing them over. Stiles fished in his front pockets, taking out a condom and lube that had clearly been intended for whomever he met at the bar that night. Using his teeth, Stiles ripped open the condom and pulled it out to roll down Derek’s now fully hard cock. Derek watched, imagining it must be what being drunk felt like as he breathed in the heavy scent of their arousal, drowning in the feel of Stiles’ hands on him again after so long.  
  
Stiles didn’t pause as he slid his own boxer-briefs off his hips, letting them fall to the floor for him to step out of. He unceremoniously squirted some lube down Derek’s cock, coating it, and then into his own hand, spreading it over three fingers. Derek took the opportunity to strip himself of his wet shirt, the cool air creating goosebumps along his arms. Stiles noticed and ran his dry hand along them, chasing them up his arm and across his damp chest, before asking again, “Why did you leave Beacon Hills, Derek?”  
  
“Because I knew you wouldn’t choose me,” Derek quietly offered, ashamed of admitting he had _run scared_.  
  
Stiles sighed at that, rolling his hips into Derek’s as he arched his back off the wall. Derek watched in awe and anticipation as Stiles’ hand moved behind his back to start preparing himself, sliding one finger in. “You never gave me the chance to choose you,” said Stiles, breathless.  
  
Derek slid his hands down Stiles’ sides, trailing his fingers across his ribcage, his thumbs circling the protruding hipbones, sliding back to grip Stiles’ ass, firmly pulling their hips together while making it easier for Stiles to slide in a second finger. Stiles let out a small moan, resting his head back against the wall, watching Derek’s face.  
   
“You stayed with her,” accused Derek, watching a flush crawl up Stiles’ chest and neck. “You were even going to marry her.”  
  
“I couldn’t have you,” said Stiles, his hand never stopping. “And she could never hurt me like you could.”  
  
Derek watched Stiles’ hand pick up the pace, his desperation showing as he quickly unravelled. “I never wanted to hurt you,” said Derek quietly.  
  
“You _destroyed_ me,” said Stiles as he slid in a third finger, closing his eyes at both the feeling and the brutal honesty. “I never knew what an addiction felt like until you left, and I realized I didn’t know how to exist without you.”  
  
Derek gripped Stiles’ arm, stopping his movements so he could roughly spin him around to face the wall. Derek pulled at Stiles’ hips, making him bend at the waist and brace his arms against the wall, as he lined up his cock and finally pushed in. He pushed slowly, allowing Stiles the time to adjust as their breathing got louder and harsher. They both moaned when Derek started up a rhythm, using their racing heartbeats that pounded in his ears as a metronome.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek gritted out, sinking his teeth into Stiles’ shoulder blade.  
  
Stiles’ head hung between his arms as he pushed his hips back to meet Derek, embarrassingly torn between already wanting to reach their climax, and having the feeling last forever. “I missed you,” said Stiles in a broken gasp. “I missed you so much I thought I hated you for it.”  
  
Derek pushed all the way in on a hard snap of his hips, stilling there. “I tried hating you,” he spoke into Stiles’ skin. “But I never could.” He slowed down their rhythm, pulling out painfully slow as they each felt every moment of it, before pushing back in at the same torturous pace.  
  
“Of course you couldn’t,” said Stiles.     
  
Derek wrapped a hand around Stiles’ neglected cock, stroking in time with Stiles’ moans. “You think I couldn’t hate you?” asked Derek, losing himself in the feeling of Stiles all around him.  
  
“I know you couldn’t, _fuck_ -” Stiles bit out as Derek picked up the pace again, his hips and hands turning frantic and uncoordinated. “Because you love me, you complete and utter asshole. _Fuck, Derek, fuck_.” Stiles stuttered out as Derek slammed into him, twisting his hand on Stiles’ cock, until Stiles was coming into his hand and against the wall.  
  
Derek bit into Stiles’ skin as his own orgasm chased up his spine, being careful not to transform in case his fangs came out. “ _Stiles_ ,” he breathed out, unsure if he was saying his name like a curse or a prayer.  
  
Neither of them moved as they tried to catch their breath, letting the pleasant aftershocks roll through them. Until Stiles finally lifted his head, prompting Derek to carefully pull out, trying not to hurt him. Stiles turned around, falling back against the wall, before reaching for Derek’s neck and pulling him into a kiss. Derek lost himself in Stiles’ mouth, and realized he could spend the rest of the night doing nothing but kissing Stiles and he’d be just as satisfied as that orgasm had left him.  
  
Stiles’ tongue still faintly tasted of Jack Daniels as he pushed it into Derek’s mouth, causing Derek to moan around it, sinking against Stiles’ body. Their kisses were slow and deep, exploratory in a territory they had to reclaim as their own. Derek nipped at Stiles’ lower lip before kissing a trail along his jaw to his neck, sucking at the soft skin behind his ear to leave a wet and shiny red mark. Stiles cupped Derek’s jaw, bringing their mouths back together, opening beneath Derek’s to eagerly accept his tongue. They slowed down to soft kisses, before Derek pulled back to simply look at Stiles, debauched and barely still standing.  
  
“I missed you too,” said Derek.  
  
Stiles smiled at him, the first time all night.  
  
Derek shook his head at him while he pulled his boxers and pants back up, watching Stiles slide to the cold floor, leaning back against the wall. Stiles stared forward at the wall in front of him, his panting lessening, but his cheeks still pink and blotchy. Derek thought he’d never looked better.  
  
“That was a great talk,” said Stiles. “I’m glad you didn’t call to have it over the phone.”  
  
“It’s just never the same over the phone,” agreed Derek as he sat next to him.  
  
They were silent again, listening to the rain pound down on the roof, something they had been too busy to really notice before. Derek looked past Stiles’ profile, taking in the dark staircase, the dark living room that led into the kitchen, the only light available coming from the front hall light over their heads. Derek could feel the urge to explore through the house. He wanted to take stock of any changes, make sure he noticed every detail that was out of place with his memories, as if they would explain what Stiles had been up to for the past three years without Derek there to witness it.  
  
Derek looked back to the wall before him, glancing up at the same three framed pictures that were lined there the last time he visited. The two end pictures were of family and pack; one of a young Stiles on the Sheriff’s shoulders, his mother still alive and healthy standing next to them on a beach, all smiles; the other a messy dog pile on Scott’s couch as the whole pack tried to fit in the frame, with Stiles happily squashed in the middle; the centre picture a framed copy of a Stan Lee signed Spider-Man comic that Scott had given him as a birthday present one year, never admitting what it had cost to get for him. Derek studied the comic, having seen it a hundred times before, and never occurring to him to question who would hang their comic books between their family photos.  
  
“You were right,” Derek finally said.  
  
“I usually am,” said Stiles. “But about what this time?”  
  
Derek turned to watch Stiles, resting his head against the wall as he took him in. “That I love you.”  
  
“Oh, that,” Stiles met his eyes, wearing a small smile. “You have for a long time,” he said with absolute confidence.  
  
“How would you know?”  
  
“Dude, come on,” said Stiles as Derek just stared at him. “ _Everybody_ knows.”  
  
“What?” asked Derek, suddenly alarmed by the idea of everybody knowing before him. “How? I’ve never told you before.”  
  
“Nah, but you didn’t need to. It was always kind of obvious.”  
  
“Oh,” said Derek.  
  
“Do you think I would have messed around with you so much if I didn’t love you? That I’d do any of that for anyone I wasn’t stupidly in love with?” Derek wasn’t sure what to think, other than maybe Stiles had been right about calling him a complete and utter asshole after all. “I wasn’t just being hyperbolic when I said you were like an addiction. When you left I felt like I should start collecting chips for the longer I didn’t speak to you, the longer I didn’t get to have you. But then I’d relapse and do something like dial your number and hang up, and I’d have to start over; write you a draft email, and then start over again; pack a bag and book a flight out to New York, god, I’d have to start all over from the very fucking bottom again. It was ridiculous. It _is_ ridiculous.”  
  
“You booked a flight?”  
  
“More than once.”  
  
“So did I,” said Derek, a smile at the corner of his mouth.  
  
“We’re so fucked up,” said Stiles. “It’s like I’m a junkie just for Derek Hale baggage.”  
  
“There’s probably worse addictions I could think of, like: heroin, meth…”  
  
“Oh yeah. Real proud you beat out meth, huh?”  
  
“Well, real proud meth didn’t beat out me, yeah.”  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes at him, suddenly looking years younger.  
  
“Are you tired?” asked Derek. _Tired of fighting it, tired of resisting, tired of denying it._  
  
Stiles nodded once before leaning forward to meet Derek in a kiss.  
  
-  
  
Stiles managed to grab his underwear before they stumbled upstairs together in the dark. Collapsing into bed, Derek couldn’t have been more grateful to find the sheets only smelled like Stiles, and he had to resist the urge to roll around in them like a common dog. But, wagging tail or not, he knew he felt a sense of content that tended to elude him without Stiles next to him.  
  
They lay on their sides, facing each other with no lights on, but the blinds open to let in what moonlight there was beyond the rain clouds. They tangled their legs together as Stiles traced nonsensical patterns into Derek’s open palm lying between them.  
  
Stiles half-smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re here.”  
  
“Me too,” said Derek. “Are you ever going to explain to the pack?”  
  
“About you fucking me in the front foyer?”  
  
“About everything. About us, about what happened between you and Robin, about whatever is about to happen between you and me. Although maybe you could leave out the fucking in the front foyer part.”  
  
“Where’s the fun in that? I’ll definitely be telling Scott that part.” Stiles bit at his lip. “He actually pretty much knows everything already. Except for why she left. Although I suspect he could guess.”  
  
“Is that why he called me?”  
  
“Probably. You know him, a bit of a walking bleeding heart, that one.”  
  
“You’re his brother,” stated Derek.  
  
“In everything but blood. I know, I’m not complaining.” They lay there listening to the rain hit the window, both feeling exhausted, but neither ready to close their eyes. “How long are you in town for?” asked Stiles.  
  
“Less than a week,” said Derek, the thought of even leaving Stiles’ bed after so long, never mind the town, was a daunting task.  
  
“Fuck,” said Stiles, burying his face into his pillow.  
  
Derek took Stiles’ hand that rested between them, bringing his fingers to his lips, speaking against the back of them, “I really didn’t mean to make this more complicated for you.”  
  
“I know. You came to the bar with good intentions. But seeing you again, standing there, looking like you do, it was exactly like it was three years ago.” Stiles traced Derek’s bottom lip with his finger, focused on it. “I get around you and I can’t control myself.” Derek nipped at the fingertip, before slowly taking it into his mouth, sliding his tongue around it as he gently sucked, letting it fall out of his mouth with a quiet pop. “You drive me fucking crazy,” said Stiles, his voice hoarse.  
  
“I know the feeling. I used to think I was losing my mind.” Derek eyed him seriously, “I never understood why it was so different with you.”  
  
“I don’t know if there is an answer.” Stiles entwined their fingers together. “Maybe it’s just instinct.”  
  
“You mean like soul mates?”  
  
“God, you are such a sap. I just mean, like maybe the way we want each other, constantly, _obsessively_ , maybe it’s just our body’s way of telling us what we need.”  
  
“And I’m the sap?”  
  
“Would it make you feel better if I broke it down into Star Wars metaphors? I have no problem explaining how you’re Princess Leia, I’m obviously Han Solo, and Scotty is Luke Skywalker.”  
  
“Fucking hell,” Derek shoved his face under his pillow, listening to Stiles laugh at him.  
  
“Wondering how you ever fell in love with me?”  
  
Derek peeked out from under the pillow, “Yes.”  
  
“One of life’s great mysteries. Now shut up and let me spoon you so I can fall asleep.”  
  
Derek complied without complaint, rolling over and letting Stiles mould to his back. He could feel sleep eagerly tugging at his consciousness as his and Stiles’ breath started to synchronize, their body heat melding together. Stiles shifted, just enough to place soft kisses across Derek’s neck along his hairline.  
  
“ _Come home_ ,” whispered Stiles. He had meant it as a command, but they both knew it was a plea.     
  
Derek thought of the way Stiles’ pulse echoed in his head, playing a melody he had thought he’d never get to hear again, and knew he already had.  


**Author's Note:**

> This was a more cynical Stiles than I'm used to writing, and it was kind of fun to give him a bit of that 'don't give a fuck' attitude. Except he obviously gives a fuck, he gives all of the fucks there are to give when it comes to Derek.


End file.
